In the Long Run

I usually run on my own, but yesterday the thought popped into my head to invite my husband to go on a short jog with me. Typically in the spring as the weather gets nicer, he embarks on a running program, and he has already been out running several more times this spring than I. Granted, I have many more opportunities for aerobic exercise than he does, but since I have slacked off running for several months, I thought we could enjoy a nice, easy run together.

“Shall I pick the route?” I asked cheerfully as we pattered down our street. “Sure,” he responded. “How far are we going?” He sounded a bit worried.

“Oh, just two or three miles. Isn’t that how far you usually run?” “That’ll work,” he said.

Two blocks later, as I was chattering away about household business, I realized I was craning my neck to talk back at him. I slowed a bit and asked if our pace was comfortable for him. He sucked in some air, and gasped, “As long as you don’t want me to talk. You’re going to have to do all the talking.” Hmmm. Would now be the time to spring my newest home renovation projects on him since he wouldn’t have the breath to object?!

We proceeded toward the cemetery, where I thought we would meander among the trees and the tombstones, and the deer and the dearly departed. As we headed down a long straightaway, I found myself again several strides in front of my Key Limey. I turned to face him and began running backward. Sweat was running in rivulets down his face. “Are you doing OK?” I smiled benignly. He did not smile back, but nodded. Maybe he thought I was showing off—maybe I was.

“Should I coach you like I do my clients?” I teased. “Come on, come on! You’re strong! Yes…yes! That’s it, stay with me, you can do it! Good form now…abs in, shoulders back and down! Focus…focus…look forward!” He merely looked at me, somewhat incredulously, then rolled his eyes, and shook his head with the slightest hint of irritation.

We came to a fork in the road, and KL turned to head back to the cemetery entrance. “No, no!” I chided. “We need to go up this little hill, over and back down if we want to get our miles in.” I sensed he might be regretting his decision to run with me, and yet I couldn’t refrain from being the drill sergeant.

“Here’s how we’ll take this hill. Imagine a bungee cord attached to your chest pulling you up the incline to that tree at the top. Lead with the chest, and breathe. Let’s go!” My husband wheezed and panted. “It feels more like a bungee cord is pulling me back from behind!” Nonetheless he was a persistent trooper, and we trotted up the hill.

I tried to goad him into sprinting the last one hundred yards to our house, but KL wouldn’t take the bait, and maintained his steady pace all the way in. After the run, he never criticized or berated me for what he could have easily deemed a condescending attitude. In fact, in all my years of running, my Key Limey has been wonderfully supportive, and my biggest fan. He’s encouraged me, praised me, bragged about me, and patiently endured me. And in the long run, I couldn’t find a better running partner than he.

Posted by Cyppy at 4:45 PM